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Target shootin' with the Gun Moll of the Revolution

In the Morning With Everything You Own

We’re just back from the garden center, where we picked up seeds, seedlings, wire fencing and ferns. I’m giddy with oddly timed excitement. I mean, the reason we had a great time in the garden center – as opposed to a shitty, arguey, stabby-stabby time – is that it’s nighttime. Even the cashier seemed surprised to see us. At home again, we put nearly everything into the slipcover greenhouse for the night and put our feet up.

I’m not sure how to talk about this. Maybe you can help me find the words. I’m not disabled, but I have trouble getting around unless I don’t. Sometimes, I stand up and everything works fine, but most of the time, when I get out of the car or up from a chair, straightening up is going to take a minute and walking looks like I’ve never done it before. What are you gonna do? Anyway, I could barely walk in February so I took some time off from the food pantry. Today, I was walking into the family store and saw the food pantry’s administrator. She asked if I felt better. I was standing and walking, and considering myself lucky until that moment. So feeling pretty good made me a shitty human being. These are exciting problems!

Pete’s built a raised bed and raised it a second time. He’s fencing in open space about three feet all around it so I can sit on a stool and work in the bed. As we set this up, it is making me feel like I am about 80. Further, I am pretty sure the bed’s too low for me to comfortably work it. We’ll see. I can’t wait to plant broccoli. Tomorrow, we will lay out the grid and draw up a plan. The seed packets offer the promise of fragrant treasures. I’m not 100% sure my joints will allow it.